My First Two Wheels

My family had just moved into a small rural town in Missouri called Dittmer.  I would be starting school later that fall. This was the summer when I came upon my first encounter with two wheels.
I was very surprised to see several older neighborhood kids  riding their bicycles out on the gravel road in front of our house one day.
Being the new kid would be difficult enough. They all looked like they were having a lot of fun and I was missing out.
Watching them riding their bikes fascinated me. I thought I could do that I was big enough I should be able to go bike riding too. Only thing was I didn't have a bicycle.
You could only imagine my utter disappointment when I went to my parents and asked them for a bicycle and was immediately turned down.
It really didn’t matter that I didn't have a bicycle of my own as much as I didn’t know how to ride one even if I did.  But how could I learn to ride a bike if I didn’t have one? None of the other kids trusted me or were willing to let me borrow theirs.
My parents might have had all of the best intentions and although our family was poor, it was explained to me that there just wasn’t going to be any money for a bicycle.
Nothing could stop my imagination or keep me from thinking about it. On foot I knew I could only walk or run so fast but if I had a bicycle I could virtually fly. Feeling the wind or breeze in your face has a certain magic to it. It inspires the imagination.
It wasn’t so much about the speed but the ability and to have the power to propel you from one destination to another. With a bicycle meant was I could go places.
Seeing my dilemma over the course of the next several weeks my mother who was a crafty and thrifty woman had come up with, an alternative idea just before my birthday and had asked me if I might be happy with a used one.
Perhaps there was a misconception between my mother and the neighbors thinking it was for her.
Maybe that was her original intention in the first place.
Sure enough when the time came I got the birthday surprise of my life. It was a bicycle alright but not just any bicycle it was one of the biggest and ugliest I had ever seen. It was very large, and powder blue in color, with 28 inch wheels but what was worse was the fact that it was a "Girls bike."

It looked something like this only much older and rusted.

It had come complete with a front wire basket, white handgrips and streamers and even a rear luggage rack. At first I was shocked and in disbelief, it was just so big, too big and it was a heavy monstrosity.
At first all I could do was push the bike around and occasionally I would bust my chin on the yoke of the handlebars. At other times I would straddle the frame and try to run before climbing on the pedals but the point of the seat would hit me in the middle of my back between my shoulder blades. Sometimes I would trip or fall and abruptly hit my tail bone on the frame or end up straddling it with my butt on the chain guard, and would end up scrapping my knees on the ground.
The longer and harder I tried the more painful it was becoming. I was beginning to think that it could only be ridden on flat surfaces like asphalted and on urban streets and there wasn't any of that out anywhere close. It just wasn't a bicycle that could easily be ridden on grass or on uneven gravel roads.
I went to my dad to plead my case for a different bike. His response was: “You wanted a bike you got one, now learn how to ride it.”
My sheer willpower was dwindling fast since I was becoming the laughing stock of the neighborhood.  No one else would have to go through this sort of humiliation. The harder I tried the more frustrated I was becoming.
My only female cousin Diane, who was several years older than I, had come out to stay for a visit. She had seen and overheard the other kids in the neighborhood poking fun at me and had decided to come to my aid.

Together with her help we removed the wire basket, the steamers and the rear luggage rack off the bicycle. Diane stood up and supported the bike while facing me. She held the front wheel tight between her legs and balanced it while telling me to grip the handlebars, and to climb on. and to put both feet on the pedals. Once I done that she held the bike still and then leaned it over from one side to the other while telling me to keep my balance.

Next we push the bike to the top of the front yard and then once or twice while she held one hand onto the handlebar and the other on the back of the seat she would run along side with me. By the third time she pushed off and let go and told me to pedal which I done.

Suddenly I realized I was riding the bike. It was hard to concentrate with a smile across my face. I was accomplishing what I had thought had been nearly impossible.Once I had coasted to near the bottom of the yard I would turn around. What I couldn't peddle I would have to get off and push the rest of the way.

With each trip I got a little more confident. It only took a few times and then it wasn't nearly as hard or as far to push the rest of the way back up the yard.

Next I would venture out onto the gravel road in front of our house. There was only a small area of level ground to ride on. Slowly and one by one the rest of the other neighbor hood kids came out to join me.
Because I had learned how to ride a bike, I felt triumphant, a little braver, and a lot more adventurous.